Black and White
by esama
Summary: ABANDONED. This is a photographer's story of a man whose soul he never managed to capture with his camera. AU, slash/yaoi.


**Black and White**

**Beginning**

Where do I begin? Every story has only one beginning, every photo shoot begins with a single photo, but still… I sit here and look back. There is so much there. Dozens of pieces of conversations so empty and so dear. Hundreds of photographs of a single face, each picture as unique as the face itself… and as empty. Sensations, snippets of knowledge, memories over memories… all of him. Where do I start?

I can pinpoint the beginning to the minute but for some reason starting like that would cheapen the moment too much for me to bear. I could start with clichés and speak of the weather, but I can't really remember the sky of that day. I can't remember the sounds either - not the general ones, just his. Is that where I should start, with his voice, with the low notes he created with his fingers, with his guitar? With the song I now remember by heart?

I didn't think much about the song back then. It sounded like just another song among many, sung by just another street performer. It sounded familiar, maybe I had heard it from the radio or something… but that's it. Now I think about it and it breaks my heart because the song, it fits him so well… But I can't remember the song's name, or it's original performer. He told me, but… I guess it wasn't as important back then.

No. It's best I start with the beginning, that being with me. My name is Yugi Mutou. I'm a photographer - not a very good, well employed, or even all that talented one. It's easy for me to admit this now that I know the limits of my abilities - limits I learned with him. Anyway, I'm what I like to call an all-around photographer. I try and take a picture of everything and anything that seems even a bit interesting. Thanks to a digital camera and nice sizeable memory cards, I have the ability do so.

What I like to photograph the most is people. It doesn't matter who they are, what they are doing or why… I just like to take pictures of them. I think it comes from where my original interest in photography came from. My grandfather's old camera and some of the pictures he had taken. He was an archaeologist with a photography hobby, in his time he used to take pictures of his friends and sights he had seen. But despite how nice the shots he got of the great pyramids were and the Valley of the Kings… I was always more interested in people he met in his travels.

Most days, I like to travel along the streets of Domino with a camera in hand, ready to take picture at any time. Sometimes I manage to capture something interesting, sometimes not. I'm used to having disappointing walks and coming back home with nothing to show for the trip, so I don't usually get my hopes up.

That day, Saturday, day when I met him… it seemed like one of those disappointing days. I had been walking the same streets for what seemed like hours, and nothing looked interesting. The people I saw I had photographed before, same with the streets, the buildings, the few speckles of green that grew in the barren urban area… even that strange stray cat which liked to lounge around the square. Nothing new nowhere near.

But I knew that there are areas in Domino where I've yet to venture. Some of the streets, the back alleys, that were usually avoided by people… I avoided them too. My camera was new and you didn't just walk into that sort of neighbourhood with that sort of item in your hand. There was no guarantee you still had it when you walked out of the said area. That day I decided not to be as careful as I usually was. Only safety precaution I took was to wrap the camera strap tightly around my wrist even when the camera was in my bag. Then I found my way into those alleyways.

Not very good places for taking pictures when you have my equipment, now that I think about it. I usually photograph in day of light, with the sunlight as my flash. That's what I was prepared for. The alleys were too dark for me to take decent pictures there. Another reason not to go there, really.

I used to know those alleys when I was younger. Back when I was just a teenager and constantly following my friends into the nearest source of trouble. Those alleys were the home of my best friend, so we were there often. It's strange how different they seemed when I walked into them now, as an adult. For some reason… they didn't seem so frightening when I was younger. But then again, as a child I wasn't as material as I am now. I didn't have anything to lose. Now I had the camera, and I had saved for a long while to get it.

There were people there, rough and ruffled and many with interesting faces, but I didn't dare to take pictures. They didn't look the sort of people one should bother intentionally - especially not when you had something very valuable to lose. Instead I walked through the alley in search for something, anything, new. The alleys themselves looked interesting with elements you couldn't find in the open, sunlit streets. Trashcans and forgotten boxes, random things like demolished bicycles, even a much suffered shopping cart.

I took some pictures of the shopping cart, wondering how it had ended up in the alley. Maybe there was a grocery shop near by and it had drifted to the alley from there. Or maybe a shop had gotten newer, better carts and when the older ones had been taken away, this one had been forgotten. By the looks of it, the cart had been put to use, someone had spreaded a piece of cardboard to the bottom and it looked as suffered as the cart itself. The cart had probably been abandoned when it had lost one of its wheels. Left behind, used and useless.

Because of that cart I know the exact time when I met him - down to the second. The last picture if took of the cart I took in the moment I heard his voice, the soft yet somehow rough tones of his guitar and the song. It was a slow, soft and somehow bitter song, the words telling a tale of an empty man wondering how he had ended as he had. "What have I become, my sweetest friend," was the first string of lyrics I heard of that song.

I couldn't see him at first, he was behind a corner of the alley. But as I followed the song, I found him. The scene is so detailed in my mind that sometimes I wonder if I could print it out of my head. He had a long leather jacket thrown over his shoulders like a cape to protect his back from the roughness of the wall as he leaned against it. The hands gently manipulating the worn instrument were decorated with silver rings and leather wristbands and bracelets. The shadows in his face, the messy dyed hair, the look on his face, the half crumbled cigarette on his lips, the beat up guitar with things written on it… the leather collar around his neck. I even remember the details of the walls, how the paint had crumbled off revealing the red bricks underneath.

My first thought was how tired he looked. He had shadows underneath his eyes, the kind of shadows people only get when they haven't been sleeping properly for too long. The look on his face… there is no word to describe it properly. In the same time it was indifferent, knowing, bitter and suffered. Like he knew some sort of secret of life that weighed heavily on his shoulders.

I wish I could have a picture of that moment. Even a single blurry photo would do. I would frame it and hang it by my door so that everyone who would pass it by would get a glimpse of what drew me to him. Glimpse of his weary strength and confidence hardened into thin but durable armour by life itself…

He finished the song slowly, never once looking up as he sang. I listened in silence, never once taking my eyes off him. When he finally finished the song, I took a careful step forward. When he noticed me, his expression didn't change. He merely dropped what was left of his cigarette to the hard ground and crushed the life out of it with his heel.

I wanted to take his picture. That was only thing I could think about. There was something in him, something I had never seen before, something I knew I wouldn't find in anyone else. And I wanted to capture it and immortalise it, make sure that it would never fade. "This may sound like weird question, but… could I possibly take your picture?" I asked.

He blinked slowly, but didn't look surprised as he straightened his back a bit, leaning even more heavily against the wall. Absently he drummed his fingers against the guitar, creating a quiet, broken beat. The way he looked at me made me wonder if he saw me at all. "What's in it for me?" he asked, glancing the ground. Only then I noticed the cup there, one with little bit of money in it.

Quickly I looked through my pockets. I'm pretty sure if my fingers had found money, it wouldn't have mattered if it was 500 yen coin or 10000 yen bill, it would've gone to that cup because I really wanted that picture. But I found nothing. When I go out to photograph, I don't usually take money with me and I hadn't that time either. I think my heart broke a little when I realised it. "I'm sorry, I don't have any with me." I was actually sad because of it, even as I looked at him hopefully, praying that he would take pity and allow me take the picture nonetheless.

He's not the kind to feel pity, though. "No picture then," he just said, and turned his attention back to his guitar. As he begun playing again, I was overcome with mild annoyance and frustration. It was just one little picture and he couldn't allow it? Why was he playing in backstreet like that one anyway? No one walked through there. He should've gone to more open street, he would've gotten more money there…

But as I listened him, I sensed something there. He wasn't like that just because he was possibly an unpleasant guy. It was pride maybe, something battered and bruised but still there, still making sure that when he did something, he got something in return. It made me desire to take a picture even harder. Maybe it was that which made me speak again, made me try and persuade him.

"Listen, I live close by. Maybe I could treat you some coffee…?" That sounded rather dangerous invitation, though. He didn't exactly look like nice guy in his leather pants, black shirt, leather jacket, and with all the leathery accessories he had. He actually looked like someone who wouldn't be beyond committing serious crimes.

"Lunch," he said and now that I think about it… it was rather like bargaining. "Treat me lunch and you'll get your picture."

I think my heart made a little dance at the sound of those words. "Yes," I just answered trying to keep the excitement inside. As he pushed his hands into the sleeves of his jacket and then gathered his money from the cup, I could only barely keep myself still. I wanted to the picture right then and there, but I guessed he would want his food first so I waited.

After throwing the now empty cup aside, he slung his guitar over his shoulder and took few steps to follow me. "Lead the way, man," he said, searching something from his pockets. Pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He had just had a cigarette and already wanted another?

"It's Yugi, my name is Yugi," I said as I turned to walk away from the alley. With bit of difficulty I remembered the shortest route towards my apartment and took the necessary turns. He didn't say anything, just shook a cigarette out of the packet, took it to his lips and lit it. Somehow he made inhaling toxic smoke seem enjoyable. Maybe to him it was. "What's your name?" I carefully asked.

From the look he gave me I figured the answer would be something along the lines of _'none of your business'_. Instead he just blew out a string of smoke to my direction and answered. "Yami." The way he said it made me sure that it wasn't his real name. It didn't matter thought.

As we walked, I took in more details about him - though I tried to not be too obvious with my staring. The collar around his neck was too thick and the buckle was too gaudy to be comfortable. Maybe the collar had once been a belt he had cut and fitted around his neck? As he raised his hand - and his cancer stick - to his lips, I noticed that one of the rings, the biggest one, had floral patterns in it. In each ear he has four piercings - hoops and studs mixed. The collar of his black shirt was ruffled and it's hem was just a little torn. The leather pants had small scratches in them. The elbows of the jacket looked worn.

He gave me a sideways look. Caught staring, I quickly tore my eyes away from him. I felt strange mixture of embarrassment and guilt - and cursed myself for looking away as it pretty much proved my guilt. I should've met his eyes sternly, not look away as if I had been doing something wrong.

Thankfully he made no note of it. "Do you do this often?" he asked instead, motioning at himself. "Pick people from the streets to… shoot."

I cringed. He made it sound like I was planning to kill him. "I photograph people a lot, if that's what you mean. Usually I take pictures of them in the streets, I don't… usually offer to treat them. Not at my own apartment."

"Hmm?" he glanced at him. "You're a photographer then… What makes me different?"

"I don't know," I shrugged. I didn't, but in the same time I did. He was special, I could feel it in the back of my neck. He was special and I needed to get a picture of him - as many pictures as possible. Somewhere inside myself I even held a small hope that no other photographer had ever seen him. That I was the first one - the only one - to sense his special appeal. "You're unique."

Yami looked as if he was about to snort at my words, but didn't. Instead he turned his eyes away and inhaled through his cigarette. Then, leaning his head back, he slowly blew the smoke out. As the smoke curled towards the sky in mysterious shapes, my desire to immortalise him just grew. I just barely could hold myself back from whipping out my camera and forcing his image inside.

I had to look away. I had never felt like it, and it was overwhelming me. Sure, I had seen things I absolutely had to photograph before, things which wouldn't leave me alone until I did, things which almost screamed out to me… but this was still new. Something in him was almost compelling me. _I guess this is what a moth feels when it sees a light bulb,_ I wondered.

The silence was both awkward and strangely enjoyable as we walked out of the alleys. I have no way of knowing how he felt, but I was giddy in way I hadn't been in long long time. Giddy in way that made people babble and skip and dance. Somehow I managed to keep it all inside and not make an idiot out of myself, but part of me wanted to.

Eventually we came to the building where my apartment was. That was pretty strange to me. I hadn't brought anyone home in any fashion in a long while. If I met my friends, I did it in some diner or café or possibly at some other pre-selected location, but not at my home. Reasons were many, but they were nonexistent then. It didn't matter then that my apartment was small and rather uncomfortable for some. Only thing mattered was the pictures I was going to get.

After he had thrown away his cigarette, I led Yami into the hall and then up the staircase. Despite having six floors - I lived in the sixth - the building had no elevator. I, unlike my grumpy neighbours, preferred it like that. I spend lot time on my feet, so walking up and down those stairs is nice exercise. Yami didn't seem bothered either, but there was hint of something in his eyes by the time we reached the upper floor. Slight fatigue maybe.

"Here," I said as we came to my door. Quickly I pulled out my keys and opened the door, before stepping aside to let him step in first. Yami gave me a sideways look, but stepped in, lowering his beat-up guitar from his shoulder. As I stepped in, he looked around curiously. "I know it's a bit small, but it's enough for me. Sorry about the mess," I muttered as his eyes wandered over my living room.

It's not exactly a beautiful living room with it's mismatched carpets and dull curtains. Most of the space of the rather small living room had been taken by the couch, the bookshelves and the desk where I had my computer and some other devices attached to it. The walls of my living room were covered with photographs. There was a small television in the corner of the living room, facing the couch, but I never watched it so it was covered in dust. Even so, mostly because of the computer, I spend most time in living room.

"Did you take all of those?" Yami asked while crouching down to take of his sleek boots. "The photographs on the walls."

"No, they're pictures taken by my friends and my grandfather," I shrugged, kicking of my sneakers and stepping further into the living room. "He travelled a lot and took pictures of interesting places." I pinned those pictures to my walls originally as a goal of sorts. That maybe one day I could take pictures as interesting as grandpa, who was never a real photographer, had taken. Later they became a reminder of why I kept on photographing even though some said my photographs had no soul.

Shaking my head, I walked across the living room to my kitchen, hoping to god I had something good in my fridge. Yami followed me, leaving his guitar to the living room. I motioned him to sit while I put my shoulder bag to the kitchen counter. Then I went to check the fridge. I didn't have much, but it was enough for spaghetti. As I begun to prepare the food, Yami hung his long coat to the backrest of the chair and stared out of the window, saying nothing.

I wished then that I knew how to be more sociable. I'm not all that good at starting conversations and such, since I'm better at listening than talking. Everyone I know usually adjust to it quickly, some even find it pleasant to have someone like me to talk to, someone who doesn't interrupt. I'm even called a "good listener," but that doesn't make me very outgoing. Right then I wished I would be better at talking. I wanted to break the strange silence and ask something, but nothing came to mind.

Eventually the food was done. I carried the spaghetti and the sauce to the kitchen table, before getting a plates and some utensils for us. "Feel free to take as much as you want," I threw awkward smile to him while getting some bread for us. Then I sat down as well. He didn't take much. Whilst it made me frown, I said nothing. He looked like he needed all the food he got, but he still wouldn't take more than little? Maybe I could prompt him to take what ever was left after I had taken some…

We ate in silence, but it wasn't as awkward as it had been before. Something in his face relaxed when he ate, as if he was relieved to be able to eat some how. It made me wonder when he had ate the last time. To ask a total stranger for lunch, that's not something just anyone would do, but he did it without hesitation. I wouldn't do it unless I was in brink of starvation…

I forced myself not to think about it, as I took a slice of bread and cheese to go along with my spaghetti. Yami finished his meal quicker than I did, turning his eyes away from the table and to the window after he was one. "You can take the rest if you want to," I said to him and smiled at him as he threw a sideways glance at me. "Go on."

First hesitatingly and then with more confidence as I merely continued to eat, he emptied the rest of the food to his plate and continued to eat. For some reason that made me feel strange satisfaction, and maybe even happiness. Somewhere in the back of my mind I thought I had done something right just then, something good.

"Thanks," he almost gruffly thanked me as I stood up to take my plate to the sink.

"You're welcome. I'll get my pictures out of this, so it's no big deal," I shrugged and quickly rinsed the plate so that it would be easier to wash later. He coughed but didn't answer, merely finished his food before standing up and brining his plate to me. As I rinsed that, he also brought the pot and the frying pan to the sink. "Thanks," I nodded to him.

"You might if I have a smoke before you'll take the pictures?" Yami asked as he walked back to his coat and pulled his packet of cigarette's out.

"I don't mind. Actually, I could take the pictures while you do," I said and took out my camera from the bag. I removed the lens cap and left it by the bag. "There's better light in the balcony. If you don't mind, that is…?"

"Uh… I don't mind." If I'm not entirely wrong, he looked a little surprised then. As if he had been expecting something else. he looked around and frowned. "You don't have your own balcony, do you?"

"No, everyone in this floor use the one in the end of the hall," I motioned towards the living room and the front door. He nodded, taking his lighter as well before heading to the living room. I followed him, quickly growing more excited and giddy. Finally I would get a picture of him! In my excitement I barely bothered to wonder why he smoked so much. Within an hour he had already smoked twice, this would be the third time.

Soon we were in the balcony. As he quickly lit his cigarette and filled his lungs with the smoke, I adjusted the exposure and shutter speed until I was sure I would get him in best possible way. Then, as he shifted his feet, I raised the camera.

"Do I need to pose or something?" he asked awkwardly.

"No," I shook my head as he adjusted the lens. "Just try to be normal. Ignore me and my camera."

"Pretty difficult thing to do when you aim that thing at me," Yami muttered, looking away and inhaling through his cigarette. As he moments later heard the smoke, I took the first picture. He flinched just slightly but didn't say anything. Instead he leaned his elbows to the rusting railing and looked at the city below us. "This place has a nice view."

After checking how the picture came out from the screen, I raised the camera again. "One of the reasons why I live in this apartment is because from this balcony you get a great view of the sunset - and the window in the other end is towards sunrise," I answered, taking pictures as I spoke, moving a little to get every picture from slightly different angle. It's strange how having a camera I my hands made me feel more confident. "And on top of that, I can go up to the rooftop if I want to and from there I can photograph any direction I want."

"Must be handy," Yami said thoughtfully, inhaling again before taking the cigarette to his fingers. Then, holding the smoke inside, he glanced at me. "Have you published? I mean… do photographers publish?"

"Yes we do. I've published in the internet, not in manner of publishing book or anything like that. I had a small exhibit two years ago, but it wasn't all that popular," I answered, and for some reason I adored the way smoke slowly slipped from between his lips. I could only hope that the camera liked it as much as I did. "Nothing major."

"I see," he murmured. "Is this all you do? Just photograph and that's it?"

"I do have a job, if that's what you're asking," I smiled a little. "I work in small studio downtown. Mondays to Fridays, eight to fourteen hours a day, depending on a day. I'm only assistant so the pay isn't that good, but it pays my bills and I learn a lot."

"Until one day you'll have a studio of your own?"

"Nah. I'm not all that particular about working in studios anyway. It seems so artificial somehow," I crouched to the floor to get a more interesting perspective. "I prefer photograph things as they are with no fancy lighting, clothing, makeup and all the other things they use in that studio to make their models prettier than they actually are."

"_Au naturel_?" Yami gave me an awkward smirk and I was quick to capture it on camera.

"Something like that," I allowed with a smile and stood up again. "Except _Au naturel_ I think points to nudity, and few people feel comfortable nude - models usually and I don't like models that much."

"Why not?"

"Models pose and people don't naturally do that," I shrugged. "They take a certain position, situate themselves in certain way, tilt their heads just right… I dunno. I keep thinking that they're dolls and not humans when they do that. I like people to be people, not dolls."

"Hmm…" he gave me a strange look before looking away. Even though I couldn't capture his face to the camera with him being in that position, I took a picture of him none the less - even backed away a little to get his entire form captured.

Not much later, he finished his cigarette and my photo session ended. With slight disappointment, I lowered the camera and quickly viewed what I had gotten. They had came out pretty well, and for some reason seeing his image on the tiny camera screen made me feel warm on the inside. Turning the camera's power off, I looked up and smiled. "Thank you."

"You paid me with a meal, but… you're welcome, I guess," Yami murmured. "Did you get what you wanted?"

For a moment I wondered what to say. I didn't want him to leave yet, I wanted to take more pictures of him. This little session was no where near enough. "Well…" I spoke almost hesitantly. "I'd need to check them with the computer to see how they came out first…"

He was quiet for a moment before speaking. "I could wait. If they didn't come out well…"

I could've hugged him. "Thank you," I just said instead, as we entered my apartment. "I could make you some coffee while you wait?"

"Sure, if you want to," he shrugged. Taking it as yes, I headed to the kitchen and got the coffee running, before I returned to the living room and turned the computer on. While I found the USB cable to get the pictures from the camera to the computer, he sat down to the couch to wait.

"Do you do any of that old fashioned black room stuff?" Yami asked after a moment of silence. "Or is it all digital these days?"

"Well… I do sometimes, but very rarely." I leaned to look over my shoulder before motioning at the bookshelf. "See that camera there? That's a old photographic film camera. I don't use it very often because I somehow manage to get a rash from the chemicals used in the developing process. And using digital is much easier and less limited."

Yami nodded while I quickly begun transferring the images to the computer. Leaving the camera and the computer to work by themselves, I went to kitchen to check the coffee. Just enough for two cups. "How do you want your coffee?" I asked as I turned the power off from the coffee maker.

"Black with two sugars," Yami answered. Quickly I poured the coffee for him and myself, added two sugars to him while adding three to mine along with some milk. Then, throwing spoons to the cups, I returned to the living room. After handing him his coffee, I returned to the computer to check the photos.

They came out pretty decent, but not as good as I hoped. The pictures looked… flat somehow. They didn't have the depth I was going for. I didn't manage to capture it, whatever it was in Yami that made him special. Of all the pictures, the one where he was facing away was the best one, it had bit of the air I wanted to capture in every photo, but not much.

I sighed heavily and sipped the coffee. Go figure.

"They didn't come out good, huh?" Yami asked from the couch.

"They came out good, but not as good as I wanted not," I shrugged and turned to him. "It's not your fault, I'm still not good enough to try and capture person's spirit with a picture." Maybe if I had another shot at it, I could try different angle, different lighting, make the pictures a bit darker to get a little mode contrast… but he already gave me one shot and I paid or it with a lunch. What could I bribe him with do that he would stay longer…?

"You wouldn't want dinner, would you?" I asked awkwardly. The man had just ate, but there was supposed to be more meals than just one in a day, right? Maybe he could stay a bit longer, and I could take more pictures… I wanted to so much.

His eyes widened just a little, before he looked away and sipped his coffee as if to cover for the lapse of self control. For a moment there was a silence before he spoke again. "You want to try again, huh?"

"Yes," I answered right away. "Please?"

He looked at me expressionlessly for a moment, before smiling crookedly. "It better be as good dinner as the lunch was, then."

Forget about hugging, I could've kissed him then. "Thank you," I whispered and quickly hid my emotional disarray by taking another sip of my coffee. Then I took my camera. "Mind if I try now?" I got another shot to try capturing his soul. I wasn't going to waste time.

"Sure," he nodded and concentrated onto his coffee. As I begun photographing, I prayed to any listening deity that he wouldn't go hungry for a while. That he would stay longer than just hour or two. That I could take as many pictures I wanted to from as many angles as there were. I wanted to try every way to capture his image, I wanted to… find the right angle to photograph his soul.

Yami ended up staying a bit longer than just hours.

---

Okay this story is possibly dearest one to me. I researched for it, I planned for it for days, I even drew art fot it before I even started to write. This story will only have three parts, this Beginning, next Middle and then the End so it won't be a very long story. I hope it will be a good one nonetheless, because I really want it to be a good one. It will be yaoi, people are out of their usual characters... but that's the way I like it.

Links to the pictures I drew are in my profile, should anyone be interested.

My apologies for possible grammar errors and comments are most welcome.


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